


if it's not rough it isn't fun

by myhappyface



Category: Angel: the Series, Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-31
Updated: 2011-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-28 14:46:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/308993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhappyface/pseuds/myhappyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billowy coat king of pain. Written for Kita: who wears the coat better?</p>
            </blockquote>





	if it's not rough it isn't fun

There's silence for a long moment, and then Jack rolls his eyes, audibly.

"This is the _stupidest argument_ I have _ever had_ ," Angel says, shrugging into his coat.

"I know that's not true. I've met Spike. You're just afraid you're going to lose."

"That would suggest I actually cared about the outcome. Which I don't."

Jack smiles his smile too full of shark's teeth and walks toward him, crowds him up against the wall. This dance is always worth it. "I have to admit, my concern wasn't so much getting you into that thing as getting you out of it."

Jack kisses him, quick at first, and shucks the coat off of him. He settles his hands on Angel's hips and then settles _in_ : long, deep kisses with the sting of teeth. Jack can feel the blood on his lip, can feel the sudden tension in Angel's coiled muscles. He presses his hips tight against Angel, pulls back to worry the cut open further, watches Angel's face change, strokes the ridges on his pretty monster's face.

One more kiss with a twist of his tongue, trailing the blood across Angel's lips, and Jack drops to his knees. Angel presses his hand against the back of Jack's neck.

He gets Angel's pants around his knees and Angel's dick in his mouth. There's this trick that John taught him, centuries or millennia ago -- yeah, still works. Angel's hips surge forward, and he moans helplessly, like a wounded animal, and clutches Jack's head tighter, tighter still. The low-key pain only serves to focus him, and he pulls Angel down deep, forehead pressed to Angel's abdomen, one hand on his hip, the other down his own pants, stroking himself off in time to the rhythm of Angel's thrusts.

Angel comes, gasping for air he doesn't need, and slips down the wall. He jerks Jack over to himself, licking his mouth open, blood and come together, and Jack moans, deep in his throat, inching forward until he's sitting over Angel's lap, hand wrapped firmly around the base of Angel's neck. Angel pulls him closer and knocks Jack's busy hand away, wraps his own cool hand around Jack's cock, and Jack is so hard his goddamn _teeth_ hurt. Angel bites down on his jaw, rough, scrapes his sharp teeth across the soft skin of Jack's neck, and Jack's scream catches in his chest, and his orgasm feels like death, like dying.

His lip hurts. He smiles.

Jack catches his breath and zips himself up. His hands are pretty steady, considering. He stands, hangs his coat up on the rack next to his desk, lets Angel sort himself out. He gives his shirt up as a lost cause and rifles through the drawers for a replacement; he's almost certain he saw Ianto put some things away in here, god knows where he had washed them or how long ago, and finds two in the deeper bottom drawer, nestled around a half-empty bottle of scotch.

Angel, not quite paying attention to him, says, "I'm really not sure how that settles the question."

Jack hefts the bottle. "Rematch?"


End file.
